Gilligans Island
by shazine
Summary: House and Wilson settle in to watch some tv, but its never that simple. No slash.


Sadly I dont own either of these characters nor the fantastic show they are based in I also dont own any cats...just incase you were wondering. Yep.

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The two men sat side by side on the small couch holding their beer and staring blindly at the screen. The Gilligan's Island marathon was playing through but the day had been too rough for either of them to enjoy it.

Wilson had lost one of his patient's that he had been treating for four years. She was 16 and had gone into remission until a few months ago and slowly the cancer had won. No matter how many of his patient's died, he was not the type to distance himself unlike the hardened man next to him.

House didn't know what to say. Normally he wouldn't even consider trying to comfort him but he had a niggling feeling to try and make Wilson at least a bit less depressed. The silence stretched on.

"You couldn't have done anything." He murmured, eyes still unfocused on the screen.

It took Wilson a moment to realize he had even said anything. He turned to look at his friend. His right leg was propped up on the coffee table as he slowly massaged the damaged thigh. His face held no real expression but Wilson could tell from his eyes that House hadn't slept properly for a long while and his leg was to blame. The hand rubbing the missing muscle slowed as House grimaced.

"Is it getting worse?" Wilson asked, momentarily distracted from the days events.

House looked at him, confused by the question until he followed Wilson's eyes to the aching appendage.

"No," he answered shortly and took a sip of his warming beer. He hoped that would end the unwanted conversation, which would predictably follow, before it began.

"Don't lie to me House." He wasn't going to be derailed.

"Why do you think I'm lying?" he questioned. Eyes still to the T.V.

"I've come to assume it most of time." He said flippantly. "Especially when it's actually about _you_." He gave House a leveling stare but received nothing.

"Come on. For starters, you've been upping the pills. You're putting more weight on the cane and I can tell you haven't been sleeping properly. I'm not blind House."

House met his gaze but said nothing. He didn't think anyone noticed little things like that or if they did they had enough self preservation not to mention it. Clearly Wilson was paying more attention than House was giving him credit for and unlike most people, he actually had the nerve to confront the diagnostician. This could not end well.

"Is it just the leg?" Wilson asked lightly, subtly trying to make his friend open up.

"It's always the leg." House snorted seeing straight through the ploy. "Nice try but unfortunately you lose a turn."

"It shouldn't be getting worse like this though, House." He knew House would not take this well. "You can't just ignore it and hope it will go away! You should get it checked out." For a man who claimed to be button-less he fired up pretty quickly.

"To be told what? A chunk of my leg is missing!? How is that going to help Jimmy?" He asked incredulously.

"Well maybe something has changed." He retorted meeting his volume. Wilson paused. "Or nothing has." He added, quietly resigning to the possibility that it was all in the mans head.

"How would I know?" He continued noting something akin to hurt in House that was defiantly not physical. "The last time I saw your leg it had fresh stitches and you were unconscious."

"You don't believe me, is that it? You wanna see it?" House asked with a dangerous tone, daring Wilson to respond.

When Wilson remained silent House stood ungracefully. Blue eyes glaring daggers into disbelieving brown ones. 'He wouldn't would he?' Wilson asked himself as House made quick work of his belt. "House," Wilson tried. He raised his hands in an attempt to diffuse the situation. The nimble fingers unfastened the top button.

"House!" He wasn't going to stop till his point was made. Wilson was quick to his feet and turned away. He froze as he heard the fly then the rustle of the material.

"Look at me." Wilson remained still. His friend didn't really want to be seen like this. Why did he question him in the first place.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Wilson turned very slowly. His eyes focused on the grey sneakers. He took a deep assuring breath and slowly raised his eyes. He couldn't help but grimace.

It was nothing like the freshly stitched leg he had seen so many years ago. The skin was contorted and heavily scarred. It looked almost like it had been burned. He caught House's eyes in the moment before he turned his head downcast ashamedly and grasped for the jeans. He saw all the vulnerability and fear. But why was he afraid? All of the seemingly unfeeling mans insecurities were playing out before his very eyes and he felt perverse just from watching.

House hastily fastened his jeans and took a Vicodin from his pocket. He threw it back with some beer and sat down. Normally he would dry swallow, which was undoubtedly manlier, but the combination would render him unconscious much faster.

Wilson was unsure of what to do. House has turned back to the television and actually appeared to be taking an interest in Gilligan's latest attempt to get off the island. From appearances, the outburst had never happened. Wilson knew he was not usually as perceptive as House, but he knew it was fear that he saw in his slighted blue eyes.

He sat down awkwardly, very aware of the tension in the room and took an interest in the show. If he said nothing he could wait till the end of the episode and call a cab. He dismissed the idea and opted for the hard route.

His voice was quiet and if not for their close proximity House wouldn't have heard it.

"Why were you afraid, Greg?"

Never the less, he could at least pretend he didn't and hope for the best.

"Please?"

He contemplated for a long time, so long that Wilson thought he had chosen not to answer. Then he shifted so he could face his friend.

"Look, I know you have stuck around regardless of my charming personality and tolerance, but that's the one part of me that I can't control. Nobody can control me, but it can." He looked up and caught Wilson's eye to gauge his reaction. He met a passive face which encouraged him to continue.

"People just disregard pain as something I should learn deal with, or even better, they use it to justify my actions. Every morning I wake up in pain and I'm expected to be the hero regardless and save the people no one else can save. To me they are nothing more than a puzzle I need to solve. Whether that means they walk out the door or are terminal is irrelevant." He knew he was avoiding the real answer but this was a bit of a revelation for both parties and he wasn't sure he wanted in anymore.

Wilson deserved a proper answer.

"It seems irrational because I know you are not me, but I was afraid that now you would have all the pieces to the puzzle and I would become irrelevant." Silence ensued.

Wilson not only had his question answered, but he had been allowed to see a side of his best friend that was always obscured by his abrasiveness or buried completely.

"Thank you," he whispered.

House would never really understand why Wilson felt he deserved gratitude for exposing all of his wounds but he was contented by the simple fact that regardless of his declaration, Wilson was still there and their friendship was stronger than his flaws. Wilson would never know how much that really meant.

"You're welcome James."


End file.
